


There's A New Game

by PorcupineGirl



Series: A Lot Like Life [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Dom Bitty, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Alternating, Secret Relationship, Shitty finds out, Sub Jack, The Haus, and it'll be fixed later in the series, including some Shitty POV, just a lil insecurity, not the super happiest ending but they don't break up or anything, well sort of a little bit, ☯✞ follow for more soft Dom!Bitty ✞☯
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In preparation for his first trip back to Samwell, Jack comes up with a plan that will allow him to sleep in Bitty's room without anyone finding out that he's actually sleeping in Bitty's bed.</p>
<p>Well, anyone who's not willing to pick the fucking lock. Sure would suck if one of their friends were the kind of person to do something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A New Game

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [DoubleNegative](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleNegative) for betaing and to [RedScudery](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery) for being a terrible, terrible influence.
> 
> Look, I really thought that my inability to write vanilla was because the Dom!Cas is just too strong to resist, but apparently this is a PG problem, not a fandom-specific problem. These cinnamon rolls are not as innocent as I assumed they would be when I started writing. *sigh*
> 
> Title of this fic and the series are from [Master and Servant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIL2yPZpmec) by Depeche Mode.

Eric is in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and tapping his fingers to the music coming out of his earbuds while he waits for a batch of cookies to come out of the oven, when a text appears.

          _\- I have an idea_

He smirks down at the phone.

          _Aw, honey, you hurt yourself? Need me to kiss it better?_

The next text is a picture. Of Jack glaring. Eric giggles as the cookie timer goes off. He pulls them out of the oven and slides them, parchment paper and all, onto a cooling rack before picking up his phone again.

          - _If all you're going to do is chirp me, maybe I don't need to tell you my brilliant idea that would allow us to sleep together while I'm there._

Eyebrows raised, Eric peeks out into the hallway to make sure nobody is near the kitchen before hitting the button to call his boyfriend.

"Baby," he murmurs into the phone, nearly a whisper, "don't be like that. I made your favorite peanut butter chocolate chip cookies today, and I added protein powder to half the batch and froze the dough for when you get here."

Jack groans. "Bits, that's not fair, I'm trying to stay mad at you."

"All's fair in love and… well, in love." He's beaming, but he's also watching the kitchen door nervously. He probably should take this conversation to his bedroom, but he does need to wash dishes. If somebody walks in to find he's left a mess, they'd get suspicious as to why he left in such a rush…

No, wait. _He_ is literally the only person in this house who will notice if the sink is full. He rolls his eyes and heads toward the stairs.

"So what's your brilliant idea?"

"Get a couch!"

"A couch?" He keeps his voice low enough not to carry as he climbs the stairs, but not so low that it sounds like he's trying to hide something.

"Or a futon, or something. I know it'll be a bit of a stretch to fit it, but you can move your dresser next to the door and squeeze it over on that wall, right? Across from the bed? We can say I'm crashing there."

Eric finally closes himself into his room, and looks around critically. It _will_ be a squeeze, but maybe he can find a futon that will fit.

This will be Jack's first trip back to Samwell. Just last weekend, Eric went down to Providence with Lardo, Ransom, and Holster to watch the Falconers. They'd all crashed at Jack's place after the win, and then when everyone else headed back Eric had made some ridiculous excuse about breaking in Jack's kitchen to stay an extra night. They'd broken it in, all right—and then, after wiping the counters down with Clorox wipes, he'd baked up a storm, too.

Two weeks from now, their schedules magically align such that Jack has a home game Friday night followed by two nights off, and Samwell has a home game on Saturday. It may be his only chance to come see one of their games this season.

"You don't think they'll think it's weird you're not spending your big NHL bucks on a hotel room?"

"Bits, I spend half my life in hotel rooms. Even the main goal of this trip weren't to get into your bed, if I could find a place to crash at the Haus that's less disgusting than the green couch, I'd take it. But—oh! We'd better move fast." Jack's words pick up speed, and Eric can just see him pacing, his hand clenching and tugging at the bottom of his shirt. "I'll be there in two weeks, and if you just _happen_ to buy new furniture right when I _happen_ to need it it's going to look suspicious—can I just order something and have it shipped to you? Do you mind?"

"Sweetheart, take a deep breath." Eric lies back on his bed, one arm behind his head. God, how he wishes he could do more when Jack gets like this. Hold him tight and stroke his hair. "I promise you, nobody in this house is analyzing the correlations between my room layout and your travel schedule. Shitty is literally the only person we know who is observant enough to notice something like that, and he doesn't live here. Heck, I'll be impressed if half of 'em even notice you're staying here. And I'll bet you an extra pie at least one person on the team gets confused and thinks you never moved out."

"So you think it would work?"

"I think it's a brilliant plan, honey." Eric bites his lip. This will be so much better than hoping nobody notices if he stays in Jack's hotel room.

"I'll order a futon, then. I'll, uh—I mean, I'll send you a link so you can approve it. Obviously. It's your room. I wouldn't—"

" _Jack._ Honey. I love you. It's a futon. I don't think there's much to approve. Just don't spend too much on it, okay? Just find something basic."

He thinks that's a fair compromise between his initial impulse to insist Jack shouldn't be buying furniture for _his_ room at all, and their agreement that Jack gets to pay for whatever he damn well pleases because he's making about ten times what a single guy with very basic tastes could possibly spend on himself. After Jack insisted on paying for their first two dates, Eric had tried paying for their third, and that had led to a heated discussion wherein Jack had finally convinced him that there was absolutely no reason on earth for him to ever pay for anything.

He still feels a little weird about it, especially with a big thing like this instead of dinner. But for the most part, it hasn't really been an issue—Jack, luckily, wouldn't know how to act like a sugar daddy if he tried.

The one time Eric did feel kinda spoiled was the first time he visited Providence, at the end of the summer. Jack had taken him to Sur La Table and insisted Eric help him equip his empty kitchen. Technically, of course, none of it is _his_ —it's all Jack's stuff, it stays in Jack's apartment, which is the only reason he agreed to it. All that Le Creuset and All-Clad will still be a practical investment years from now, long after their relationship has run its course and Jack has moved on and found someone else to use it with. But given that Jack basically needs one saucepan and one frying pan and that's about it when Eric's not around… Well, he's not _stupid_. He knows Jack didn't buy a full set of anodized aluminum bakeware for _himself_. So it did feel a bit extravagant, even if he's only gotten to use it the one time since.

This is the first time Jack has wanted to buy _him_ something, apart from paying for dates and tickets and things. And it's practical and for the overall good of their relationship, so he's not going to fuss about it. He'll let his boyfriend buy him a damn futon if it means Jack can sleep in his bed.

—

When Eric comes in the door after classes two days later, Lardo pauses the video game she's playing.

"Hey _Dickey_ , you see that enormous box at the end of the patio? Your mom mailed you a fucking rhinoceros or something. What the hell is that thing?"

He lets himself laugh, because Lardo has no idea that he's laughing at Jack and not his mother.

"Oh, lord, she warned me she was gonna do this. She got a bee in her bonnet about my room not being homey enough or something, decided she wanted to send me some furniture." He drops his bag and heads back toward the door, glad he's been thinking about what lie to cover this with. "I talked her out of the armoire, figured a futon might actually get some use."

He finds the box, and it is, in fact, addressed to _Dicky Bittle_. He crouches down next to it, laughing hard enough he has to rest his forehead against the cardboard. He pulls out his phone.

          _I can't believe you addressed this to Dicky._

The response comes almost immediately.

          - _It's the details that sell the lie, Bits._

          _Should I be worried that you're so skilled at crafting a lie, Mr. Zimmermann?_

          _\- I only use my powers for good._

"What the hell is that?"

Ransom and Holster are coming up the walk. Perfect timing.

" _This_ is my new futon that you strapping young men are going to help me cart up the stairs."

Ransom just shrugs and tosses his bag to the side, ready to go, but Holster squints at him with a smirk.

"What's in it for us?"

Eric crosses his arms, grinning. "I've got a new flourless chocolate torte recipe I've been meaning to try out. I'll get on that as soon as the futon's set up."

Ransom nods, smiling, but Holster looks suspicious as they approach the porch steps. "Is a torte like a pie?"

"This is like a cake, but better. Now c'mon." Eric reaches down (though even from the top of the stairs, it's barely down) and tugs on his shoulder.

An hour later, he never wants to see an allen wrench again, but the frame is put together. He switches it from couch to bed mode and back a few times, just to make sure he knows how to, then leaves it in couch mode. He flops the mattress onto it, then flops himself on top of that. He takes a quick selfie and sends it off to Jack.

          _All it needs now is a handsome Canadian to pretend to sleep on it. ;)_

          _\- Pretend? Who said anything about pretending?_

          _\- Oh wait, you mean the futon._

          _Why Jack Zimmermann, you are getting better at flirting every day._

          _Have you been practicing with the adoring fans after your games?_

          _\- Only the one who actually adores me._

          _\- That's you._

          _\- Just to be clear._

          _It better be!_

Eric bites his lip and hesitates before tapping out another text.

          _But just so you know, I don't really care if you flirt with fans. It's part of the job, I know that, honey._

          _And it helps you keep up appearances and all._

          _\- Bitty…_

          _As long as I'm the only one who gets any more than that, I'm happy._

          _I promise._

          _\- You shouldn't have to be happy with that._

          _Sweetheart, it's not like I'm the first person to have a celebrity boyfriend who has to keep fans happy, closet or no._

          _Tell me none of the other guys who are taken indulge the pretty girls with a smile and a touch on the arm after the game._

          _\- Sadly, a couple of them "indulge" more than that._

          _\- But yes, you're right._

          _You should program that sentence into your autotext. Might save you a lot of time in the future._

          _\- … I think that I understand the joke you're making, but I have no idea how to do that._

He sighs and shakes his head.

          _Don't worry your pretty head about it, honey._

          _Skype in a couple hours?_

          _\- Of course._

—

Jack knows what to expect when he pulls up to the Haus, because Bitty texted him ten minutes ago. Bitty knows he won't write texts while driving, but he does read them sometimes. So he's not at all surprised when half the team is scattered across the lawn and porch.

When he gets out of the car, he's inundated with hugs and back slaps and greetings. The tadpoles he's never met—only heard about from Bits—hang back and let Jack's friends get to him first. Rans and Holster nearly attack him, with Lardo close behind. Chowder keeps up a constant stream of babble while he greets Dex and Nursey.

He's happy to see them all, of course. This feels like coming home in a way that going back to his parents' house in Montreal never really does.

But he can feel all of his senses drawn toward the one person who isn't part of the crowd, who's still sitting on the porch steps, watching the scene with a smile. This past spring, it took Jack a long time to realize that some part of his consciousness always seemed pointed in the direction of Eric Bittle. After the embarrassment of having his photography classmates basically pound the fact into his head, he'd realized that it wasn't just through a camera lens. He'd realized long ago how attuned he was to Bittle on the ice, of course, but it wasn't until then that he realized it had extended itself into the everyday.

And it's stronger than ever, now that he knows exactly why it's happening. Now that he knows what he wants and knows he can have it.

So even as he hugs and fist bumps and hair-musses his way through his friends, he knows exactly when Eric stands up from the steps. And as he meets the new guys who've shown up, Whiskey and Tango, he's keenly aware of how far he is from Eric at every moment. He keeps the crowd moving in the general direction of the Haus as they go, and soon they're close enough that Eric is absorbed into the edge of the group.

Finally, after introductions are over, he turns and Eric is smiling up at him.

Lardo seems to be the only person who notices that Eric has only just now joined them.

"What the hell, Bitty, you avoiding Jack?" She shoves him forward. "Go say hi, dumbass."

Eric elbows her. "He's staying in my room all weekend, I didn't want to monopolize him as soon as he gets here."

Jack tries not to grin too widely, and wonders if he's failing as hard as Eric is.

"Good to see you, Bittle," he says as he goes in for a hug.

He tries to keep it manly, a friend hug, the same hug he gave Lardo. He hopes nobody notices how his hands cling to Eric's shirt, how they pull each other just a little bit closer than anyone else did. He's not sure he's ever had to think so much while hugging someone before.

They pull back, Eric's hands on his arms.

"C'mon, roomie, let's go throw your stuff upstairs." Eric nods back at the Haus with a smile, and Jack wonders if he's the only one who can see the glint in that smile.

Much to Jack's chagrin, Chowder and Tango follow them up, pestering him with questions about his team. He humors them all the way up the stairs and down the hall, trying to work out an excuse to lose them when they get to their destination.

To Jack's surprise, Eric is the one who stops at his door and turns a stern frown on the two hangers-on.

"Come on, y'all. Jack had a damn game tonight and then drove nearly an hour straight here after. He'll be here for you to pester all weekend, can you give the man five minutes of peace?" He nods toward the stairs.

Chowder babbles apologies, while Tango just turns red and runs back to the stairs. Eric goes in first, and stands, amused, in the middle of the room while Jack takes another thirty seconds to calm Chowder's apologizing as he tries to creep through the door.

Finally, _finally_ , Chowder wanders off. Jack drops his bag as he shuts the door. Eric reaches around him to turn the lock, and Jack can't hold back a smile at that. His heart rate picks up as he turns around. Chowder and Tango will undoubtedly pass the word that Jack wants a minute alone, but how long can they stay up here before people start to wonder?

"Well, Mr. Zimmermann, here's _your_ futon." To Jack's surprise, as Eric plops down on it he grabs Jack's shirt and pulls him down with him. Jack has to scramble so that he lands straddling Eric's lap instead of sprawled awkwardly across him.

So now… yes, now he's straddling his boyfriend's lap.

He leans in for a kiss. He supposes he should be desperate for more, should be trying to cram as much physical pleasure as he can into the maybe five minutes they have alone—but he doesn't want that. Well. He _wants that_ , but it's not his priority. He's desperate for touch, yes, but not for that kind of touch. His hunger for closeness is the type that can be satisfied in gentler ways.

They kiss a few times, lips parted, tongues teasing but not demanding. He ducks his head and mouths his way across Eric's jaw, pausing when he gets to the corner to press his face into the soft indent behind his ear.

"I love you." Jack's voice is a rough whisper; it betrays more emotion than he would normally be comfortable with, but one thing he's realized is that he trusts Eric with that. He feels safer lying naked with Eric, baring his soul along with his body, than he does anywhere other than on the ice. And even there, it's been years since he's felt truly secure unless he's armed with his stick and covered in thick layers of padding, a helmet obscuring his face.

His therapist might claim it says something about him that he only feels safe either when he's buried in physical barriers, keeping him anonymous even as crowds chant his name, or when he's completely exposed to the one person who somehow sees right through him. But he knows the truth—it actually says more about the man who makes it so easy for him to let himself be seen.

Eric nudges him until he lifts his face, then starts pulling Jack with him as he lies down across the length of the futon.

"I love you so much," he murmurs in between kisses as he goes. "Wish I didn't have to share you with the whole Haus all weekend."

"Greedy," Jack says, smiling into Eric's throat. Eric nods enthusiastically. "Me, too."

The futon is more of a loveseat than a couch in order to fit it between the existing furniture, so even Eric has his head propped on a pillow against one arm and his feet up on the other arm. Jack doesn't even try to stretch out, staying straddled around Eric's hips and boxing Eric's head in with his arms.

He rolls his hips, and Eric makes a strangled sound.

"Jack," he gasps, "don't—don't start somethin' we don't have time to finish. Everyone's expecting you downstairs soon."

"I'm _so tired_ ," Jack groans, grinning against Eric's cheek. "I don't think I'll be up for much socializing tonight. I have a feeling I'll be turning in early."

They both laugh and kiss some more. Finally, they can hear people making their way loudly up the stairs, no doubt looking to drag Jack down. Eric gives him a little push on his shoulders, and he sits up.

But he doesn't move off the futon just yet. He sits there as their friends come down the hall, soaking in the sight of the man below him. Jack wonders when it will stop taking his breath away, how completely in love he is. How he almost missed out on this, almost didn't let himself have it. It's not a mistake he'll ever make again—he's found the one thing he wants to build his future around besides hockey, and he knows he'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Then someone thuds into the door, and with a wicked grin Eric shoves Jack off his lap and into a laughing heap on the floor. Jack rolls onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes as Eric lunges for the door, grabbing the handle before anyone can discover that it's locked, and throws it open.

"Y'all sound like a herd of drunk elephants, you know that?

—

Jack winds up spending an hour downstairs, playing Mario Kart and fielding questions about his teammates. Eric bakes the cookie dough he's been keeping in the freezer, and when Jack tastes them he has to hold himself back from doing very dirty things in the kitchen. Though as it happens, he's not the only one offering sexual favors in return for more cookies.

"I swear to God, Bittle, I'll blow you for another batch of these!"

Nursey is maybe a bit drunker than most of them right then.

"Bro, you might wanna take him up on that," Ransom says, arm draped over Bitty's shoulder, "I mean, have you gotten any at all this year? I bet Rugby Dude would be up for a booty call, he was way into you."

Jack has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He should probably be feeling possessive or jealous or something, or else feeling guilty for making Eric lie to his friends, but right now all he can do is keep a dozen overly-revealing one-liners from spilling out of his mouth.

"I do not need a booty call, Ransom. Or drunken sexual bribery, for that matter, Nursey. Here, _you_ need a glass of water." Bitty ducks out from under Ransom's arm, trying unsuccessfully to hide the shade of red his face is turning as he goes to get water for Nursey.

Jack wants nothing more in the world than to slide up behind him and hold him close, kiss his neck until he's flushed for an entirely different reason.

"Yo, I'll text him for you if you want. I think he likes it when you're shy—" Bitty performs an impressive maneuver in which he hands Nursey a glass of water with one hand while stealing Ransom's phone with the other and passing it to a startled Jack.

"His name is Neil. Delete him from Ransom's contacts."

Jack has about one second to wonder why Eric isn't just doing it himself before that question is answered by the new sheet of cookies he's removing from the oven.

Jack stares down at Ransom's phone and starts poking at it. Figuring out where the contacts list is while also keeping its owner from snatching it back proves to be beyond his limited technological capacities.

"Wait wait—" He scrambles onto the island, buying just enough time out of Ransom's reach to find the list. "Is this it? Neil Hampton?"

"Dude, don't you want Bittle to get laid? That guy would bend over for him in a second, I swear."

Jack happens to know that Neil never once bent over for Eric. Jack happens to know that he's the only person who has had that honor. Jack manages to redirect the impulses caused by that thought into shoving Ransom away from the island again. By now, Chowder and Ollie have wandered into the kitchen doorway and are just kind of gaping at the show.

"If Bittle says he's not interested, he's not interested. I'm sure he can do better, anyhow."

If anyone in this room were paying close enough attention, they would notice the way that Jack smirks and Bittle giggles at that. They're not.

Unfortunately, Jack does not manage to delete the contact immediately.

Instead, of course, he hits the fucking call button.

"Shit."

Ransom sees the call going through on the phone screen and cracks up.

And, of course, Neil picks up on the first ring. From the background noise, he's probably at a party.

"Yeah?"

"Uh…" Jack looks at Eric, eyes wide. He could easily say sorry, wrong number, bye. "Just so you know, if anyone at this or any other number contacts you about Eric Bittle again, you're to ignore them. He had a lot of fun, but he's no longer interested."

Ransom is _on the floor_ laughing, Jack is crouched on the kitchen island trying not to knock over the glass of water Nursey put down before he dropped it from laughing too hard, Eric's face is bright red again and his hand is clapped over his mouth.

"O…kay… I've got a boyfriend now, so tell Eric yeah, it was fun, but I'm not on the market anyhow."

"Oh, good. Uh. Good talk." Jack hits the disconnect button with a quickness. "You're safe, Bittle, he has a boyfriend."

Jack jumps down off the island and lands in front of Eric. Their eyes lock, and anyone who can't feel the sexual tension right then is either dead or an oblivious member of a men's hockey team.

"Well, good for him," Eric finally says. "Let that be a lesson, Rans."

Ransom finally picks himself up off the floor and wrangles his phone back from Jack.

"Jesus, Jack, since when are you Bitty's knight in shining armor, eh? Being a rookie must be getting to you, you miss having frogs to protect."

Jack nods. "Something like that, yeah. Uh, I think I'm gonna head upstairs. Pretty wiped from the game today."

"Oh, gimme two seconds and I'll come get that futon set up for you." Eric busies himself tidying up from the cookies as Jack makes his way out of the kitchen and through the living room, both receiving and delivering a barrage of fistbumps and shoulder slaps along the way. By the time he makes it halfway up the stairs, Eric is behind him.

As soon as they're in his room, Eric reaches one hand behind him to lock the door and pulls Jack in by the shirt with his other hand.

"Jack, you are such a terrible friend," he says, his voice laden with something that is going right to Jack's toes. "Don't you want me to get laid? Don't you want—"

Jack cuts him off with a kiss, pressing him into the door. They stay there, kissing frantically, tearing each other's shirts off and pressing naked skin together in every spot possible. Everyone is downstairs, drunk. There's nobody up here to hear them thump against the door every so often.

After a few minutes, Jack drops to his knees and starts undoing Eric's pants. Eric lets out a small whine as he runs his fingers through Jack's hair, and when Jack glances up, the mix of adoration and lust in his eyes is overwhelming.

Jack swallows him down, but pulls back after only a minute or two. Eric lets out another whimper at the loss.

"I was under the impression we were looking for someone to bend over for you tonight," Jack says, unable to stop himself from mouthing at Eric's balls as he speaks.

Eric tugs lightly on his hair, and Jack's eyes fall closed involuntarily. He likes it, and he knows it's obvious he likes it, but he's too embarrassed to ask for more. He's not sure if Eric would be willing to do that—pull hard enough that it hurts. As it is, sensations like that ground him, help him stay present. More than that, actual pain… he thinks it might do something else to him altogether.

"I certainly won't say no to that if you can find a volunteer." Eric's voice is a little breathless, but his smirk is firm.

Within minutes, Jack is on his hands and knees on Eric's bed, naked, Eric working him open like they've done this hundreds of times before. In reality, this will only be the fourth time. Jack can't wait until the day he loses count.

They both got tested this summer, but Eric grabs a condom to contain the mess. As he starts to slowly press in, Jack can't help looking over his shoulder. Eric is staring down at where they're joined, lips swollen and red, eyes half-shut. Jack suddenly wishes he had his camera, because this man is a work of art.

Soon, though, Jack can't think about anything except how full he is, how careful he has to be not to cry out, how Eric's balls are slapping against his own with every thrust.

Eric bends down, draping himself over Jack. Because of the height difference, his face is below Jack's shoulders, but he kisses and bites every inch of Jack's back that he can reach while fucking him faster. Jack bites his own forearm to keep from crying out.

Finally, he feels Eric's hand on his dick. Not stroking, just wrapped tightly around it—but the way he's getting fucked is providing more than enough movement, and out of nowhere he realizes he's getting close.

He lets out an involuntary sound, forgetting to bite down and muffle it because now Eric's angle has changed _just enough_ that he can't think straight. To his surprise, there's suddenly a hand over his mouth, pulling back tightly. Eric's rhythm slows now that both of his hands are occupied, but not by much.

Jack doesn't fully understand why the hand over his mouth is about to push him over the edge. All he knows is he doesn't have to worry so much about being loud, doesn't have to think so hard, because Eric is there doing it for him. The high-pitched moan that escapes him as he comes is muffled by the hand keeping his mouth closed.

He clenches hard around Eric's dick while he's coming, riding out the sensation as it drags against his prostate, and tries to keep it that tight when he's done. Eric reclaims his hands to steady himself against Jack's hips, and it only takes a few more hard thrusts before he's pulsing into the condom.

They collapse into the bed together, tangled and sweaty, just in time to hear someone coming up the stairs. They freeze, clinging to each other, until they hear Lardo's door open and close.

"We should, y'know," Eric is still panting as he speaks, "wash up, brush our teeth, all that good stuff." He grins up at Jack. "Faster we do all that, the faster we can snuggle."

It takes them a minute to recover enough to actually do anything. But then they pull on underwear and sleeping shirts, wipe up what sweat they can with Eric's discarded t-shirt, and do their best to make each other's hair look like they didn't just get laid.

Jack goes to the bathroom first, then Eric. Jack hears him come out of the bathroom just as Lardo comes out of her room. He has to strain a little to hear their conversation, but he can make out most of it if he stands right by the door.

"You goin' to bed already, Bitty?"

"Oh, yeah, well. I'm pretty worn out and—well, y'know, I've got Jack Zimmermann sleeping in my bedroom, he's probably gonna wake me up at six—or worse—and make me go running with him or something."

"Hey, you volunteered to put him up. Coulda made him get a hotel, you're just too fuckin' nice, Bitty."

Bitty laughs, and Jack wonders if it sounds as nervous to Lardo as it does to him.

"Well, y'know, he's on the road so much, he's sick of hotels already. And he's here to see us, not to drive back and forth to some hotel every day."

"Like I said, too fuckin' nice. He's damn lucky he's got you lookin' out for him, Bits. Nobody else in this house can take care of themselves, let alone a friend."

"As the person who provides everyone in this house with at least two meals a week, Lardo, I am well aware of this fact."

"Yeah, yeah, we're _all_ damn lucky. Too fuckin' nice. Night, Bits. Tell Jack good night for me."

"Night, Lardo."

Jack is climbing into the bed when Eric comes back into the room. He sees Eric lock the door, then double-check it, before turning out the light and padding over to the bed.

"I'm glad we're gonna tell her and Shitty. The lying always sucks, but now there's actual sneaking around to go with it. Feels weird."

"I know." Jack wraps Eric in his arms. "It will be nice to have friends who know. If anyone deserves our trust, it's those two."

—

Damn, but Shitty was excited when he heard Jack would be staying in Bittle's room for his visit. His first instinct had been to ask if he could stay there, too, and make it into a real slumber party. If there was a futon, he and Jack could share, right?

But then he'd just be throwing himself into the chirping ring. Better to take advantage of the opportunity to make endless jokes about them braiding each other's hair or telling ghost stories. Or maybe even give Bitty a little hell (privately, he's not a total asshole) about his crush on Jack. Which he's never actually told Shitty about, but let's be real. If the way he was looking at Jack half of last year wasn't enough of a sign, the fact that he's apparently become the Haus expert on the Falconers clinches it. Shitty doesn't want to freak the kid out in front of Jack, of course, but if he can get him alone, there are definitely possibilities.

He wishes he coulda made it in last night, when Jack arrived, but law school is fucked up. If he's gonna give himself all of Saturday and Sunday off, he had to get shit done Friday night.

The upside is that, since he was studying instead of partying, he got to bed at a decent hour.

That means he can get up and get to Samwell bright and early. With any luck, earlier than Jack Zimmermann got up.

When he arrives at the Haus, Chowder is spread out on the front lawn with a biology textbook. He says—well, he says a lot of things, but the only useful piece of information he manages to communicate is that Rans and Holster went out for a run.

Lardo is eating a bowl of cereal and watching Mythbusters when he gets inside. He kisses the top of her head as he walks by.

"Jack and Bitty up yet?"

"Haven't seen 'em. They both turned in pretty early last night, though, so I'm kinda surprised they're still asleep."

Shitty's grin widens. "I'll take care of that."

He figures Jack can't possibly sleep in much longer, so he has to move quickly.

When he gets to Bittle's door, he goes for the knob—but it's locked. That's weird. Maybe Jack _is_ letting himself sleep in, and knew someone was bound to try to interfere. Of course, Shitty could just as easily bang on the door and make an unholy racket until one of them opens it, so he's not sure what the point of locking it is. Or maybe one of them just did it by accident, or automatically. For all he knows, Bitty always sleeps with his door locked.

Instead, he slips into Lardo's room and digs around in the box he's seen her occasionally delve into when she has to dress up for an art show. A minute later, he triumphantly pulls out a bobby pin.

Luckily, the bedroom locks are not real locks that require real keys, which means he doesn't need a real set of lockpicks. Just something small enough and long enough to reach into the little hole… jiggle it around a little… et voila.

He hears the tell-tale _click_ of the lock opening, then pauses. He doesn't hear anything from inside the room, so the click didn't wake them up. Slowly, slowly, he turns the knob and opens the door.

He sees the futon immediately. It's to the left of the door… and it's empty. It's got a blanket on it, but no pillow. And no Jack.

Huh.

He can hear someone breathing, so at least Shitty can have some fun waking _someone_ up.

He tiptoes through the door, glad he took off his shoes downstairs. He shuts the door as silently as he can, and sneaks forward, past the closet, to find—

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, this is good. This is _so good_.

This is possibly the _best thing that has ever happened in Shitty's long and illustrious life_.

Because there, on Eric Bittle's bed, is Jack Zimmermann.

And also there, on Eric Bittle's bed, is Eric Bittle.

Snuggled up to Jack Zimmermann, with his head on Jack's chest.

It takes a monumental effort of will to not make one of the dozens of embarrassing noises that want to come out of Shitty's mouth at this moment, but he manages to stay silent long enough to snap a few photos. He wishes like fuck he could send them to the group chat, but he's not a fucking idiot or sadist. He knows the damage a photo like this could do to Jack's career— _he_ knows nothing happened, and so would the other guys, but if somehow the photo was seen by anyone outside the Haus, the media would have a field day anyhow.

They're both clothed—well, they both have t-shirts on, and he assumes there are either pajama pants or at least boxers or something under the blankets. At any rate, it's not like they're naked. He can't imagine Jack getting drunk enough to _do anything_ with Bittle, _jesus fuck_. But he can totally see them getting just tipsy enough to fall asleep talking, or maybe a little tipsier and just kind of both crash on the same bed, each forgetting that one of them should have gone over to the futon. How fucking adorable.

After taking the photos, he stands there for a second, biting his lip. Now what? He'd planned to climb on top of Jack and wake him up by licking his face or something, but he's not sure that's the right approach now. There's plenty of room for a good menage a trois joke, of course, if he climbs into bed with the both of them.

_But_. What might be even funnier is to just see their natural reaction. Watch the show when one of them wakes up and realizes.

So Shitty grabs a magazine from Bitty's desk (he swears he was aiming for the _Sports Illustrated_ ; he has no idea how he wound up with _Saveur_ ) and makes himself comfortable on the empty futon.

He had assumed that they'd be up any minute, but to his surprise it's nearly fifteen minutes before Bitty starts to stir. Shitty puts the magazine down and watches, rapt.

Bitty rubs his face into Jack's shoulder and hums. It looks like the arm around Jack's chest might be squeezing tighter, too.

Here it comes.

Bittle hums in contentment, and Shitty clenches his jaw inside of his cheshire grin to keep from laughing.

"Lord, I missed you, baby," Bitty murmurs, and Shitty freezes, eyes wide. The grin drops off his face.

That is not what he expected to hear.

Not by a long shot.

"Mmm-hmmmm," Jack mumbles, and pulls Bitty closer.

Although he can't see either of their faces from where he's sitting on the futon, he sees Bitty raise his head just a bit, and then hears what is unmistakably the sound of _kissing_.

He has no real control over the sharp breath he sucks in through his nose at that sound. Or over the volume of it.

Which is loud enough to make both Jack and Bitty sit straight up, Bitty scrambling over to face him in the process.

For a few comical seconds, the three of them just sit there, backs stiff, eyes wide and terrified.

Then Shitty shoots up off the futon as Jack and Bitty hiss at him, "What the hell, Shitty?" and "I know I locked that door, did you _pick_ my damn _lock_?"

"What the fuck is this?" He hisses back, only a tiny bit louder than their whispers.

"This is _my room_ , is what it is!" Bitty replies, still as quiet as he can manage while his face is red with anger. But Jack has slumped back against the wall, and when he tugs Bitty on the shoulder, Bitty relaxes just enough to lean back against him, still glaring daggers at Shitty. Jack doesn't look angry, just guilty.

Shitty starts pacing. He's honestly not sure if he's angry or hurt or just shocked or what.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little thrown here. I'm sure you can understand. I come in here, ready to wake up one of my _best friends_ who I haven't seen in _weeks_. And so okay, Jack's not on the futon, whatever. Here _I_ thought Jack just fell asleep in the wrong bed because you two stayed up late talking or something. Here _I_ thought we would all have a laugh when you guys realize what happened. _I_ thought I was getting chirp material for weeks, if not months, to come.

"Because, why would I think any different? It's not like I thought you two actually fucked or anything. Why? Because Jack's fucking _straight_ , and even if he's a little bi-curious he sure as hell wouldn't drink so much that he'd try out that curiosity on one of his best friends."

He finally stops pacing right in front of them, barely pausing in his tirade.

"It _sure as fucking hell_ never occurred to me as even the _remotest_ possibility for _half a second_ that this could possibly be a 'Lord I missed you baby' type of situation! Because why on earth would two of my _best friends_ be in the type of relationship that merits that sort of greeting without telling me? Especially my two male best friends, one of whom would certainly have said _something_ to me in _over four years of friendship_ if he were anything more than a little heteroflexible!"

"This is the quietest I've ever been yelled at," Jack murmurs, his voice slightly louder than the nearly-unvocalized rasp of Shitty's ranting.

Bitty turns to him, wide-eyed, and smacks him on the chest.

"Oh my goodness, I was just thinking the exact same thing!"

Shitty runs a hand over his face. He is sure that once his blood pressure returns to normal, they'll be adorable, but at the moment it's just breaking his brain even further.

"Seriously, Jack." Shitty's not whisper-yelling anymore, but he keeps his voice low. If he didn't know about this, it's pretty obvious that nobody else should, either. "Four years, bro. Do you know how many people have come out to me in the past four years? Fuck, I was the first person _your boyfriend_ came out to! How the hell could you not trust me with that?"

" _Shitty B. Knight_." Bittle's voice is still quiet, but now it's closer to a low, dangerous growl than a murmur or whisper. His teeth are clenched, and he shoots forward on the bed so quickly Shitty takes half a step back. Realistically, he knows there's no way Bitty can take him, but he's also never seen Bitty lunging and growling protectively, so. "You, of all people, should know damn well that nobody _owes it_ to _anyone_ to come out to them, nobody has a—a _responsibility_ to reveal that part of themselves even to people they love. It's not always about trust, it—"

"Bits," Jack's voice is as gentle as Shitty has ever heard it as he interrupts, tugging Bitty back toward him. "C'mon, it's okay. You know he didn't mean it like that."

But, well. Shitty kind of _did_ mean it like that, and now his stomach twists. Because Bitty's right. Not that he can't feel hurt, but he shouldn't be pissed at Jack so much as pissed at our whole bigoted, heteronormative, patriarchal, toxic-masculinity-driven society for putting Jack in that position.

"Nah, he's right, he's right." Shitty waves in Bitty's general direction, then finally flops down into the computer chair. "It's not your fault our world is so fucked up that you can't tell your best friend you're bi."

There's a pause, and something about the way Jack and Bitty both subtly… not so much freeze as just… don't move… makes it feel heavy.

"I'm not bi," Jack finally replies. "I'm gay."

Shitty's eyebrows shoot up. Just when he thought nothing about this situation could surprise him more.

"So… That whole thing with Camilla…"

Jack shrugs. "I guess we were dating. More like she kind of assumed, and once I realized what she was assuming, I didn't argue because it was convenient."

"And, uh…" Shitty's brow furrows. "I mean, bro, I know the whole 'Zimmermann puck bunny' thing was always at least 75% bullshit. You just used it as an excuse to be antisocial most of the time. But like… not at all? I swear I saw you disappear with girls a couple times."

Jack shrugs the shoulder Bitty isn't leaning on.

"Once or twice," he says, rolling his eyes. "I mean, mouths are mouths. I closed my eyes and imagined they were Zac Efron. But just a couple times, not since fall of sophomore year."

Bitty apparently knew all this, as the only real reaction he shows is a flicker of an amused smirk when Jack mentions Zac Efron. Shitty feels the wind knocked out of him—how much does Bitty know about Jack that he doesn't? It's not jealousy, it's just… it hadn't really hit him until this moment that these two are _boyfriends_. They're _in a relationship_. He doesn't know how serious it is, but the way they touch, the way they look at each other, makes it seem like it's at least a little serious. There's a type of comfort there that's completely different from the way they interacted as friends.

"We were gonna tell you this weekend, Shitty, I swear," Jack continues. Bitty nods, head still on Jack's shoulder.

"We were hoping to corral you and Lardo into lunch or something, just the four of us, and tell you both," Bitty adds.

"So how long have you been together, anyhow?"

They glance at each other, all shy smiles, and once again Shitty feels the force of _holy shit, they're not fucking with me_ like a physical blow. But this time, it's less a punch to the gut and more of a smack upside the head. His two best friends are in love, and that's kind of fucking amazing, actually.

"Well, it's sorta been a thing since graduation," Bitty says, then bites his lip for just a second before finishing, "but we didn't make it, like, _official_ official until the fourth of July."

"We kissed after graduation, but that was totally unofficial. Then sometime in June it became official but just, you know, single-official official," Jack adds, looking Shitty in the eye with a totally straight face. As he continues talking, Bitty pulls away from him, Jack reaching out blindly to pull him back in but failing. "Someday we may take the plunge into official official official, but I don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment y—"

Jack cuts himself off with a yelp as Bitty digs his feet into his side and pushes him over with them. Bitty kicks him in the ass one more time for good measure.

"As much as I'd love to sit here and let you keep chirping me, Mr. Zimmermann, I need to go use the little boys' room."

Jack groans from where he's now lying on his side on the bed. "Bittle, can you maybe not refer to yourself as a little boy?"

As Shitty lets out his own groan, Bitty climbs back onto the bed, getting in Jack's face with his body half-covering Jack's.

"Fine. I need to go _take a piss_. Happy?" He gives Jack's ass a hard smack as he climbs back off the bed.

Shitty gasps. "You are clearly a bad influence Jack. Bitty's fucking cursing, what's next?"

Bitty doesn't even turn around as he flips them off on the way out the door.

It takes a moment for them both to stop laughing. Shitty watches his friend struggle back into a sitting position.

"So this is what Jack Zimmermann looks like when he's really happy, huh? I like it."

Jack shrugs, looking down at where he's picking at Bittle's comforter. "I'd say I've never felt like this about anyone before, but that seems kind of stupid since I've only had one other real relationship and I was just a kid then. Still true, though."

Shitty frowns. "If you don't mean Camilla, who…" The pieces suddenly slotted into place. "Parse? Seriously? All those old rumors were _true_?" Jack nods, not looking up. "Holy shit. No wonder you hate him."

Jack sighs. "I don't hate him. I just… can't really be friends with him, y'know?"

Shitty nods. "So you and Bittle… it's pretty serious, isn't it?"

Jack glances up, but can't maintain the eye contact. He swallows and talks mostly to his hands. "I think he's it for me, Shits." Jack's eyes move, seemingly involuntarily, to the door Bitty just walked through. "Don't say anything in front of him, I mean, I'm not ready to actually jump into that kind of thing yet, we've got too much shit we've got to deal with first. And he's only twenty, I know he's probably not even ready think like that—hell, I shouldn't be ready to think like that, but."

He finally looks Shitty in the eye again, and he looks almost lost. Not sad, just in over his head.

"I didn't know it could be like this."

Shitty can't honestly say that this latest revelation is that big of a shock, not after everything else. Jack and Bitty have always had some weird way of being on the same wavelength, even back when they couldn't stand each other. Even when Jack didn't like Bittle, he _understood_ him, and at the time it just pissed him off more. By the time they actually became friends, watching them have a conversation felt weirdly like watching them on the ice—you had the vague sense that what you were seeing _shouldn't_ work, but that didn't change the fact that it _did_ , like a well-oiled machine.

_What kind of heteronormative idiot couldn't see that these two were falling for each other?_

But there will be time for self-reflection later. This conversation is about Jack.

"Like what?"

Jack frowns at him, confused.

"Humor me," Shitty says, propping his feet up on the bed. "Me and Lards, I have no clue if we're in this for the long haul or not. I could totally see it happening, but I could also totally see us deciding a year or two from now that we're better off as friends. So I can't say I know what 'like this' is, if it's the kind of thing that makes you pretty sure he's the one. I'm curious."

Jack gazes at the door again for a moment before answering.

"I'll have to get back to you on that, Shits. All I know is, now that I know what it's like to have him in my life like this, I don't ever want to go back."

Shitty grins. He never thought he'd see the day when Jack Hockeysexual Zimmermann looked and talked like a lovesick fool, but damn, he likes it.

"So who _does_ know? About you two?"

Jack finally tears his eyes away from the door. "My parents. You. That's it."

"Wait," Shitty says as Bitty comes back in—relocking the door behind him, Shitty notes. "Didn't you go down to Georgia for the fourth? Bits, your parents don't know?"

Bitty's face darkens as he climbs back onto the bed with Jack, shaking his head.

"I can't hide it forever—I don't _want_ to—but no, I'm not even out to them yet. I'm thinking of talking to my mama sometime, figure out how to break it gently to Coach."  He smiles at Jack, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "At least he likes Jack already, and the whole professional athlete thing might soften the blow."

Shitty watches them watching each other for a minute, then he claps his hands on his thighs and stands up.

"Well, I should probably leave you two to your morning sex," he says, heading for the door. "But don't think for a minute that means I'm done with you. Rest assured, there will be deets, my friends."

Jack snorts and Bitty groans, but they're smiling. Shitty pauses with his hand on the knob.

"So… you mind if I go ahead and tell Lards? If you want, I can just say you guys have something to tell her, but she'll get pissy if I know something she doesn't. And pretending I don't know if you're gonna tell her this weekend anyhow would just be weird."

They look at each other, and Shitty can't help smiling at their silent communication. Finally, Bitty shrugs.

"You might as well. But y'all still owe us a double date before Jack heads back down tomorrow."

Shitty nods and makes himself scarce.

_Well_ , he thinks, _that sure was a thing that happened._

—

As soon as the door closes behind Shitty, Jack's face is buried in Eric's neck, kissing and biting.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly what we’d planned,” Eric manages to get out in between a few gasps.

"No, but it went as well as anything could, I think. And he's right. About the morning sex," Jack murmurs, and his weight presses Eric down into the mattress.

"One second," Eric manages to gasp, and wriggles his way out from under Jack, who makes an adorably dissatisfied noise. Eric re-locks the door, then opens up Spotify on his computer and puts on a playlist he's been cultivating for just such a situation. Nothing too high-energy, maybe a few things with slightly sappy lyrics but nothing that would arouse suspicion when people hear it coming from his room.

When he turns around, it's clear that Jack had been staring at his ass as he bent over his computer. He climbs back onto the bed, over a Jack who's spread out like an underwear model—but one who's half-hard in the boxer briefs he's advertising.

Jack reaches up and slides Eric's shirt up and off of him, then stares unabashedly, running his fingers over the muscles of Eric's arms and chest.

God, the first time he realized Jack wanted him. _Wanted_ him. Not just thought he was cute, not just wanted to kiss him and hold him and gaze lovingly at him.

The one advantage of his parents not knowing they were together was that they didn't think twice about leaving them alone. When they got back from the airport, Suzanne was still at work and Coach hung around just long enough to say hi to Jack before heading over to a neighbor's house to help put up some fencing.

As soon as they were alone, Eric had taken Jack's hand and shown him around the house. Showed Jack his own bedroom, and the guest room next door where Jack would be staying. Eric hadn't even finished babbling about the quilt on the guest room bed his MooMaw had made before Jack's hands had wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against Jack. He'd gasped, and then Jack's mouth had been on his neck, pressing firm kisses down it.

He'd turned around and they'd kissed for a few minutes, and it was _incredible_ , and he would have been happy to have just that, more of that, as much as he could get—but then Jack was walking him back toward the bed, urging him to lie back down on it. And then he saw the look in Jack's eyes as they scanned down his body, and he realized.

It was maybe more of a shock than the first kiss had been.

Obviously, he'd known—assumed, _hoped_ —that they'd be having some form of sex eventually. After a few weeks of talking about the complications of distance and Jack having to stay closeted, they'd decided that they wanted to be together anyhow, that they were willing to work through all of that to have a relationship. And of course, that would include sex. Jack had certainly hinted at as much, flirted with Eric over Skype.

But Eric still hadn't realized… Well, he'd figured Jack would want some level of physical intimacy as an extension of their emotional intimacy, and he'd _hoped_ that the physical attraction would strengthen over time. He'd heard about that, how someone who isn't necessarily that hot or your type can look better and better as you get closer to them. So he thought Jack might want to kiss and touch him now, and then eventually would want more. The whole time, he'd been assuming that his desire for Jack was so much stronger than Jack's for him. He thought he'd have to hide it lest he look desperate.

But right then, as he loomed over Eric and let himself look his fill, the raw hunger in Jack's gaze and in his touch shattered that myth. It was a shock, but it was also irrefutable, and Eric could feel something new pooling inside him. He'd wanted Jack before, but he hadn't even realized how much he'd wanted Jack to want him back.

They'd made out some more, and then their shirts were off, and Jack's hands were exploring him just like they are now.

"God, _Eric_ ," Jack had gasped into his ear. It was the first time Jack ever used Eric's given name, and he'd let out an embarrassing whimper. But Jack's responding moan told him maybe he didn't have so much to be embarrassed about. "Do you have any idea how badly I want you?"

And Eric had frozen. It took Jack a second to notice, but when he did, he propped himself up on his elbows, looking down with a concerned wrinkle in his brow.

"You actually… I just…" Lord, but he'd felt stupid right then. He could _feel_ the evidence of Jack's attraction to him pressing into his thigh. But it was so unexpected, half his brain just couldn't trust it. He sighed, blushing. "I'm sorry, Jack, I'm being so dumb, I just—you're _you_ —" He motioned at Jack's incredible face and body to prove his point. "And I'm just—" He motioned to himself.

"You're _just_?" Jack had looked incredulous, and Eric couldn't make eye contact anymore.

"I know I'm—I'm—I'm _cute_ , and all, but I'm kinda scrawny and twinky and it's one thing for you to, y'know, have feelings for me, and that would be more than enough for me, but how—" He stared up at Jack for a second, flabbergasted. "How can you possibly look at me like _that?_ Like I'm—like I'm—"

"Hot? Sexy? Desirable?" Jack's eyes softened with a fond smile, and Eric blushed under his gaze. "I'm sorry, Bittle, have you _seen_ yourself lately? You're not in high school anymore." He ran his hand over Eric's bicep. "This is not _scrawny_. You are pure… solid… muscle…" His eyes and fingers had wandered back down Eric's torso while he spoke, and the combination of Jack's distraction and the light touches was making Eric twitch in wonderful ways.

Then Jack's eyes came back up to meet his. "You were 'cute' when I met you two years ago. That was the first thing that annoyed me about you, you know—you were cute, and I wanted to stare at you, and I couldn't, and you were totally oblivious to all of it. And then I had to spend two years watching everything about you—your face, your body—sharpen and mature from a cute boy into this gorgeous man that I _still_ couldn't stare at."

"And now," Jack had started kissing Eric's shoulders, then working his way down his body. "Now I can stare and touch all I want, and I am going to prove to you just how _fucking hot_ you are."

Now, sitting astride his boyfriend, Eric soaks in the attention. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock, he'd discovered that there is nothing on earth more arousing than knowing the effect you have on another person. The few other encounters he's had—making out after a date leading to hand jobs a couple times, one dude who blew him in the bathroom during a party—were fumbling, rushed, less about wanting each other than about wanting a warm body to get off. Knowing how deep Jack's desire for him runs has unlocked a streak of sexual confidence Eric hadn't thought himself capable of.

He feels… powerful, like this.

So he lets Jack stare and touch. Lets Jack get himself riled up wanting more. When Jack pulls him down for a kiss, he teases him, just ghosting his lips over Jack's, relishing the way Jack chases him. He grinds their hips together, and when Jack arches up under him, he scrapes his teeth over the place where Jack's throat meets his shoulder, making him moan just loud enough that Eric claps a hand over his mouth.

Jack doesn't pull the hand away. Instead, he gasps under it, his eyes falling closed.

He likes it. Eric had thought last night he might have just been putting up with it because he was too distracted, but no. He definitely likes it.

Eric grins. He kinda likes that Jack likes it.

He pins one of Jack's wrists to the pillow by his head and leans down, putting more weight on both the hands holding Jack down.

"If you can't keep _quiet_ ," he whispers, punctuating his sentence with a roll of his hips, "we can't do this."

Jack nods as much as he can with the way Eric is holding his head down. Eric releases his mouth, but on a whim grabs his other wrist and pins it, as well. Jack's eyes flutter open, surprised, and he turns his head to look at one of the places he's being held.

Nerves jump in Eric's stomach—maybe he pushed it too far, maybe Jack isn't enjoying this like he is—but as he opens his mouth to ask if it's okay, Jack closes his eyes again and arches his back. It makes his hands pull just a little at Eric's, but he's clearly not trying to dislodge him. It's just enough to remind them both that he can't move any farther.

Eric has to swallow his own moan so he's not a hypocrite. He bends down and nips again at Jack's throat where it's stretched out for him. As he does, he takes a second to think about what he's doing. He can't really do much else if he's holding Jack down with both hands, especially since what he _really_ wants is Jack's dick in his mouth.

For the first time in his life, he sees the appeal of tying someone down.

_Holy crap_.

His breaths come quicker as he pictures Jack tied to the bed under him, helpless, trusting Eric to make him feel good.

Okay. Okay, they will need to discuss that sometime. For now, he lifts his head to look Jack in the eye.

"If I go down on you, can you keep the noise down, Mr. Zimmermann?" he asks, smirking.

"I don't know, can you stop chirping long enough to suck me off, Bittle?" Jack replies with a smirk of his own, though it has significantly less bite when Eric has him pinned to the bed. The thought puts a satisfied grin on Eric's face, and he knows it looks as predatory as it feels when Jack's mouth goes slack below him.

"Oh, honey, I wasn't finished. If you want this blowjob, you're gonna do two things. First, you're gonna stay quiet. You don't have to be silent, but no louder than I am right now. Second, when I let go of your wrists, you're going to leave your hands right where they are. You move a hand and I remove my mouth, got it?"

Jack's eyes are wide, though Eric can't quite tell if it's in a good or a bad way. He opens his mouth and hesitates, and for a second time Eric is sure he's gone over the line, that Jack is about to ask what the hell is wrong with him.

"Yeah," Jack breathes, nodding and looking a little surprised at himself. "Yeah, that—I can do that."

Eric sighs in relief, then leans down to kiss Jack. It's slow and deep, and he strokes his thumbs up and down the insides of Jack's wrists where the skin is soft and smooth.

He moves his mouth back down to Jack's throat, and as he kisses his way down, he slides his hands down Jack's arms and onto his chest. He scoots down Jack's body, and he can feel Jack's dick pressing rock-hard against his own chest. He rucks Jack's t-shirt up and dips his tongue into Jack's belly button, earning a gasp. (The same move, Jack quickly learned, causes Eric to convulse and start laughing too hard to keep going, but Jack seems to like it.)

He can feel and hear that Jack hasn't moved his arms, but he glances up to check anyhow. Jack's eyes are shut, his mouth hanging slightly open. His hands are exactly where Eric left them, though his fingers are clenched against what is probably the impulse to lower them to Eric's head. He's only given Jack a few blowjobs, but he's pretty sure Jack has had at least one hand in his hair all the way through every one. It must be almost automatic for him—but he's keeping himself in check because Eric told him to.

Eric keeps his eyes up as he dips his head further down, to where he can press his tongue against the head of Jack's dick, still trapped in his boxer briefs. Jack whimpers, but doesn't get louder than he's allowed to. His hands flex and twitch restlessly, but they stay where they belong. Eric sits up a little and watches their movement as he pulls Jack's underwear down enough to free his dick and give it a few strokes.

He finally has to look away to focus on what he's doing. Eric had never actually given anyone a blowjob before Jack, but he'd been relieved to find that it wasn't too hard to figure out. He's still trying out different movements and types of pressure, but he's got the basics down and enjoys the hell out of it. Sure, a couple times it's taken long enough that his jaw hurts, but the feel of the smooth skin on his tongue and the way Jack gasps when he pushes the head against the roof of his mouth and sucks hard more than make up for that.

This morning it doesn't take long to get Jack to the point where he's mixing French curses in with English under his breath, and Eric isn't sure if that's down to this new game they're playing or some change in his technique.

"Eric," Jack gasps, "puis-je… can I… please…" He lets out a small whimper, and Eric wonders if he should stop and let Jack ask whatever it is he's trying to ask, or keep going and try to keep him incoherent enough that he'll never get it out.

Jack takes a breath and tries again. "May I turn my hands over? Please? So I can—so I can grab the—the pillow?"

Eric's been hard this whole time, but hearing Jack say "May I"— _holy hell_. And he wasn't chirping, he wasn't being sarcastic or, or—Eric isn't even sure Jack was fully aware of what he was saying. He'd just. _Begged_.

The shiver that jars Eric's spine almost makes him scrape his teeth where he really shouldn't.

He pulls off, but keeps one hand working Jack's dick to make sure he knows he hasn't broken the rules.

"Go ahead," he says softly. "Thank you for asking."

He gets back to work, determined to reward Jack for such good behavior.

He must do a pretty effective job of it, because it's only another minute or two before he can tell Jack is getting close.

"Eric—yes—" He's gotten a tiny bit louder, but certainly not bad enough that Eric's going to stop _now_. And when Eric glances up, he's still clinging to the pillow on either side of his head, so. "I'm gonna— _oh_."

Now _this_ took a little practice, but now he manages to pull back in time to not choke on what fills his mouth.

Eric can't help moaning a little, because no, it doesn't taste particularly good, but if he gets off on having proof that Jack wants him—and apparently, he does—well, there's nothing more convincing than that, is there?

They're both panting as Eric pulls off, but rather than lie there and catch his breath, Jack immediately pushes himself up so he can reach into Eric's boxers and wrap a hand around his achingly hard cock. This whole thing has been far more arousing than it has any right to be, so it only takes a few strokes before he's coming, his forehead pressed against Jack's shoulder.

They both sit there, gasping, for a moment, before Jack falls back onto the bed. At first Eric follows him right down just because he'd been leaning on him, but then he manages to push himself off and flop onto his back.

They lie there for another minute, catching their breath.

"Oh my goodness," Eric finally says. His brain is not yet functioning well enough to put together anything more complicated.

He turns his head toward Jack and they stare at each other, wide-eyed and maybe a little wary. He's not sure what Jack thinks of what just happened, and from the look on Jack's face he's not sure Jack knows what Jack thinks, either.

Finally, Jack turns on his side to face him, and Eric follows suit.

"That was…" Jack begins, but trails off.

"Unexpected," Eric finishes honestly.

Jack's brows pull together just a little, and his hand strokes at Eric's hip. "Was it okay?"

Eric manages to smile a little. "Okay, cards on the table? That was the hottest thing I have ever experienced." He can't quite read Jack's expression, so he hastens to add, "But if you didn't like it—"

"I liked it!" Jack blurts out, then blushes a little. "A lot."

Eric bites his lip, but can't stop grinning. It feels like they've just discovered some big secret for just the two of them. Which is silly, because their entire _relationship_ is a big secret for just the two of them.

Jack clears his throat, looks down. "I, um. I think I might actually like it even more if, um. Maybe you could…" He rolls his eyes at his own inability to form words. It's adorable.

"If… I could actually tie you down?" Eric ventures, willing his voice not to squeak. It's a close thing.

Jack's cheeks turn a much deeper pink, but his eyes come up to Eric's with maybe a spark of hope in them. "Would that be okay?"

Eric can only nod enthusiastically. They lie there for a moment, dopey half-grins on their lips and blushes on their cheeks.

"We are going to hell," Eric whispers, and Jack bursts out laughing.

"We're already gay," he points out. Now Eric is giggling too.

"I know, but now we're _really_ going to hell!"

It takes them a minute to get themselves back under control. Eric can't even process this right now. He's going to process it soon, though, because Jack wants him to _tie him up_ and _oh my lord_ that is happening as soon as humanly possible. There must be how-to guides about that sort of thing online.

When they're finally done giggling, they kiss for a bit, murmuring about how much they love each other. Eric tries not to show how completely floored he is, that he now not only has an incredibly attractive, sweet, funny, sexy, athletic, rich, handsome, talented boyfriend, but that he gets to have hot, kinky— _kinky!!—_ sex with him and then giggle about it afterward. Is it actually possible that this is his life?

Then Jack sits up and pokes him.

"C'mon, Bittle, it's almost nine o'clock and you've got a game tonight. We barely have time to go for a run if we're going to get you on the ice before lunch."

Oh, right. This _is_ his life.

"You're not the captain of me anymore, Mr. Zimmermann," he chirps, but he's getting up.

—

Shitty leans over the back of the couch, watching the TV over Lardo's shoulder for a bit, chewing his bottom lip in thought.

"Can I help you?" she finally asks.

"I need to tell you something," he begins slowly. "In private."

She pulls away and eyes him warily.

"I swear it's nothing bad! Just…" He glances outside to see Ransom and Holster returning from their run. "Yeah, not out here." He stands up and gives the back of the couch a smack. "C'mon, upstairs."

He leads the way to her room, climbing onto her bed while she shuts the door behind them. He pulls out his phone while she joins him—she might as well find out the same way he did, after all.

"So," he starts, "here I am, all ready to wake Jack up in the most embarrassing way possible, right? But I go in there—and the door was locked, bee tee dubs, I owe you one hairpin—and that futon Mama Bittle so conveniently sent just in time for Jack's visit? Empty. It wasn't even folded out into any shape that could actually hold Jack Zimmermann. So I go all the way into the room, and…" He holds the phone out to Lardo. "I find _this_ instead."

Her eyes go round. "Dude, they weren't even drunk last night. I think Bitty had like one beer."

"Yeah." He pockets the phone. "I know that now. At the time, I did not, so I settled in to watch the fireworks when they realized they'd gotten all cuddly in the night. Instead, I got more cuddling and some sweet nothings that were definitely not intended for me to hear."

"What?" Lardo whispers. "So they, like, hooked up last night? For real? And they're cool with it?"

"Oh, no no no." Shitty waves a hand to emphasize just how wrong she is. "You are severely underestimating the sweetness of the nothings. I quote—and you'll never guess which one said this—" He clears his throat and puts on his best Quoting Things For Law School voice. "Lord, I missed you so much, baby."

Lardo's mouth falls open in a very satisfying way. To absolutely no one's surprise, not that there's anyone paying attention but himself, Shitty's enjoying the hell out of this. "Bitty? Said THAT? To JACK? Is he drunk NOW?"

"Aw man, you did guess which one said it."

"Jesus christ, Shitty, this is no time for jokes. Finish spilling right this second."

He shrugs. Unfortunately, he's not sure he can really stretch this out any further. "Yeah, long story short, they've been dating for months. They were gonna tell the two of us this weekend. They're like, super in love. It's pretty gross. Don't tell anyone."

Lardo just sits there for two full minutes, staring at him. Then she hits him on the arm. Hard.

"You are such. A terrible. Person!" He knows it was three separate sentences because she punctuated them with further smacks to his arm. "You better not tell _anyone_ I almost believed that!"

It takes Shitty a moment to realize what she just said, but then. _Oh_. Just when he thought it couldn't get any more fun. He knows that laughing now doesn't really make him look more honest, but he's not sure what _would_ make him look more honest, so he goes with it.

"I am gonna kill them _both_ for posing for that damn picture for you." She gets up off the bed, and he just manages to grab her wrist.

"I swear to god, Lards. They're in there fucking right now! Why else would neither of them be out yet? Like you said, they turned in early last night—well, _I_ doubt they got to sleep early, but in your make-believe world where Bitty's not sucking Jack's dick right now--" Lardo tugs on her hand, but he doesn't let go just yet. "In _that_ world, they went to bed early. And Bitty has a game today. And even if Jack isn't team captain anymore, if he's sleeping in there, and all they're doing is really sleeping? Then no way would he not get Bittle up for a morning run on a game day. If I just spent a half an hour in there working out with them how to prank you, and not trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is apparently _gay_ —not bi, mind you, Jack Zimmermann is not into the female form, period—why are they still in there?"

He thinks it's a convincing argument, but Lardo just rolls her eyes. "They're staying in there so you can convince me they're having sex, duh."

She tugs her hand free and starts off down the hall.

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" he calls out, but then decides to follow her because he can't miss _this._

They get to the door to Bitty's room, and the first thing they notice is that music is playing. But Bitty isn't singing along, and Jack isn't bitching about Bitty's musical tastes.

Lardo hesitates, then tries the handle, slowly and quietly so that the music covers up the sound. It's locked. She rolls her eyes and lifts a hand to knock when they hear it.

It's quiet enough that you wouldn't hear it over the music unless you're standing right in front of the door listening for it. Like they are right now.

" _Fffffuck_." Jack's voice is breathless, and if he's faking, he's doing a damn good job of it. "Eric—yes—I'm gonna— _oh_."

Lardo's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide.

Then they hear a moan that is _definitely_ from Bitty, not Jack. And, okay. Obviously they can't see what's happening. And Shitty is no expert on the sounds guys make when they're blowing other guys. But _if he had to guess_ , he'd say there was something in Bitty's mouth while he was moaning.

He mouths "I told you so" at Lardo before she runs back down the hall, probably permanently traumatized.

He follows, and as soon as he's in and has the door shut she turns to him, dropping the hand on her mouth only just far enough to get words out.

" _Holy shit, he called him Eric!_ " she hisses, then covers her mouth back up, clapping her other hand over the first for good measure.

Shitty squints at her. "That's your takeaway?"

Her hands suddenly drop to her sides, balled into fists, and she's glaring at Shitty like he set her up to hear that instead of warning her not to go.

"Jack has never once, in all the time we've known him, called Bitty anything other than Bittle. He doesn't even call him Bitty, or Bits, or whatever the hell else the rest of us say. _He called him Eric, Shitty_. I don't even call _you_ by your first name during sex!"

"Well," Shitty allows, "I can see how 'Bitty' wouldn't be the most flattering thing to call someone when you've got their dick in your hand. Or your ass, or whatever."

"But he doesn't even _call him_ Bitty to start with!"

"Is this really the part you're hung up on? Not the part where we probably just listened to Jack shooting a load down Bittle's throat?"

Lardo walks over to her bed and lays down. She sighs and shakes her head.

"I'm blocking that part out. Wow. Okay. So, Jack is gay and he and Bitty have been dating for how long?"

He sits down on the bed by her feet. "Apparently it was made 'official official' on the fourth of July, but they kissed after graduation. Whatever all that means."

"And they're so in love it's disgusting, huh?"

"You didn't hear this part from me, but Jack's already thinking long-term. I mean, he's not picking out a ring, but still. I didn't even know he was capable of marrying a person instead of an ice rink."

Lardo opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. She shakes her head again.

"I need a smoke."

"I thought you were instituting a strict no-weed-before-noon policy this semester?"

"I think Bitty just swallowed my new policy, Shits. C'mon."

—

Eric isn't too surprised Monday night when there's a brief knock at his door, followed by Lardo's head poking in.

"Can we maybe debrief?"

He smiles. "Yeah, c'mon in. I just finished reading this chapter anyhow."

She flops down on the futon; sitting up against one arm, she can actually stretch her legs out across it.

"Is he gonna, like, call or Skype or something soon?" She's half-chirping, but she also seems honestly worried about interrupting. She's been a little off-balance since the lunch, like she hasn't quite figured out how to reintegrate all this new information into her worldview just yet.

Eric glances at the time on his phone. "Nah, he has a game tonight. If they lose, he'll go straight home and we'll Skype then. If they win, he'll show his face at the post-game socializing for a half hour first. Either way, he won't be home for at least another hour."

Her eyebrows pull together. "He has a game and you're not watching?"

Eric laughs. "Oh honey, he's got three games a week for six months!" He turns his computer monitor so she can see it. "I've got a tab with the live coverage up so I can check now and then. Thanks to the miracle of modern technology, if he scores or anything I can get the footage pretty quickly."

Lardo smirks at him. "I'd think you'd be glued to every game to get a glimpse of those blue eyes. Or that ass."

"Well," he says, trying not to smile too widely as he returns his monitor to its previous position. "Honestly, Lardo, if you'd been paying any attention, then that shoulda been your first clue something was going on." When she just raises an eyebrow, he continues. "Bad as I already had it for that boy, that's _exactly_ what I'd be doing if I didn't know I get those blue eyes and that ass all to myself every night."

She rolls her eyes. "Well maybe you just got over your big dumb crush over the summer. How was I supposed to know?"

"Yeah, right. Like that was gonna happen." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at the Bitty that Might Have Been. "My goodness, I don't even know how bad I'd be pining away right now if Jack hadn't gotten up the nerve to kiss me. Trust me, it's not like I've met anyone this year who could've made me forget him even if I still thought I didn't stand a chance."

"So? Gimme some deets, bro." She tries to poke his leg with her foot, but she has to scoot down a ways to reach. "I mean, not _those_ deets, I don't really care how good Jack is at—" She sits up suddenly. "Wait, what the hell am I saying? I _absolutely_ wanna know how good Jack is at giving blowjobs. But then the mushy stuff."

Eric hides his face as it burns red, but he's laughing. "I have no complaints in that department, and that is all I'm saying."

"Fine, hold out on me, I see how it is." Lardo settles back down into the futon. "How about all the other departments, though? You holding up okay with the whole distance thing?"

He sighs. "About as well as anyone can. I don't know how people did this kind of thing before texting and Skype. I'd _die_. What's really weird is that even if we lived in the same city, I wouldn't see him that much more than this half the year. I dunno if that makes me feel better or worse."

Lardo hums thoughtfully. "Yeah, you can't really travel with him much if he's not out. But at least once you live together you'll _only_ have to worry about the away games. That's gotta be an improvement."

"Once we live together?" His voice squeaks a little with incredulity. He hardly even heard the rest of what she said. "We've been dating three months, Lardo, I seriously doubt Jack is making plans for me to move in."

"But you are?" She smirks.

"I didn't say that!" His indignation fades quickly into resignation, and he pulls his legs up into the computer chair with him so he can hug his knees. "Trust me, Lardo, I'm not making any plans either. I've got no illusions here. I know he's not toying with me, I know he wants to be with me right now. I do not doubt him at all. But even in the closet, he could have his pick of guys. Eventually he's gonna move on and find someone in his own league."

Lardo's face is distressingly blank. "Bittle, tell me you are joking right now."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't, okay? I'm not getting down on myself. But I understand my place in this. Jack's life revolves around hockey. I'm the first gay hockey player Jack's known since Kent. I'm the low-hanging fruit here, and no, the pun on fruit was not intentional. I'm not saying he's gonna leave me for the next gay hockey player he meets, but I'm a stepping stone. He needs someone to bridge the gap between his past and his future."

"He said that?" Lardo narrows her eyes, and for a second Eric is worried for Jack's safety.

"Lord, no! I'm not saying he's doing it on purpose! I told you, I know he's not toying with me. Jack loves me, I know that. But if I spent six months mooning over him, and _I_ can't imagine a future where I'm everything he wants, I know there's no way he could."

"Bitty, don't sell yourself short—"

" _Please_. Just stop." He really thought he could get this stuff out without crying, but the lump forming in his throat is threatening to prove him wrong. "Just let me enjoy this for what it is, okay? We're in love, and it's amazing, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. I'm just not fool enough to go pickin' out china patterns just yet. Yeah, I kinda wish I could. I wish I were the kind of guy a guy like Jack was going to settle down with. But I'm not. But I _am_ exactly the kind of guy he wants to be with right now, and believe me, I am not going to let the future keep me from appreciating what I've got now."

Lardo scowls at him for a moment, and he can practically see the wheels in her head turning. She's trying to figure out how to convince him he's wrong, and he really, _really_ wishes she wouldn't. The last thing he wants or needs is false hope. He is _so_ happy with what he has. You can always find some way to find a thing lacking if you compare it to something else that doesn't even exist. He spent all last year wanting a fantasy; the last thing he needs now that that fantasy has miraculously become reality is to replace it with _another_ unobtainable fantasy that makes him feel like the fantasy he's _actually living_ isn't enough.

She sighs as she gets up.

"Look," she says, shaking her head as she moves toward the door, "I'm just gonna say one thing, and then I promise you I will drop this subject permanently." She waits until he's making eye contact to continue. "You know Jack. Better than any of us. Jack doesn't do things by halves. He's intense. He's focused. This is a man who has had the same career goal since he was a kid, and even after having it torn away from him and shredded up and scattered to the wind, he never lost sight of it once.

"I'd say he's not the type of person to change horses midstream, but it's more like… like… his horse washed away down the river, and instead of swimming the rest of the way across, he built a fucking boat and went and saved the horse. Then he got back _out_ of the boat and finished crossing the fucking river on that horse because if his _goal_ was to cross the river on that horse _,_ then he is going to cross it _on_ _that fucking horse so help him god_. I'm gonna stop with this metaphor because I'm pretty sure it leads to something about him riding you, but you get the picture. If there's any chance that right now, he sees you as the one he wants to cross the river of life with—shit. Did I really just say that? I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead. Good night, Bitty."

She slips out the door immediately, shutting it quietly behind her.

He leans his forehead on his knees, letting out a loud breath.

Damn it all, he should have deflected or changed the subject. He should have said what she wanted to hear. "Well, of course that would be nice, but it's too soon to think about that. You shush or you'll jinx it!" How hard would that have been?

Now he's stuck _thinking about it_ , and if there's one thing he's avoided like the plague for the last three months, it's _thinking about it_. There's absolutely nothing more depressing than thinking about the inevitable day in the future when you're replaced.

And even worse, she found the one thing to say that actually gave him hope, and now he's gonna have to work harder to stomp it out. He figured she'd fall back on how much Jack loves him, or how great he is, or how great _Jack_ is. Any of that, he could combat, because he knows that none of that is any kind of guarantee of anything. Great people love each other all the time, and then break up.

Jack being a single-minded, relentless bastard, though. That's… actually the kind of thing that could make a difference. That's the kind of thing that's determined Jack's life course so far.

But not really. It's only determined his career. Eric has no reason to expect Jack to apply that kind of reasoning to _him_. Hell, why would he want that? That's not what love and marriage is supposed to be—just stubbornly staying with one person because you said you would. You marry someone because your love is so strong and so solid that it will last through everything and you'll never _have_ to do that.

His phone buzzes on his desk, and he picks it up to find a text from Jack. Inside is a string of keysmashed emojis that can only mean he scored a goal at some point and texted when he got off the ice.

Eric grins and turns to his computer to watch.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, that ending was kind of a bummer. Good thing this is a series! Be sure to subscribe to the series or me as an author (not to this fic) so you're not stuck with insecure!Bitty as endgame. :)
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://porcupine-girl.tumblr.com).


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